


Lost

by RoyaiFan101



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M, Major character death - Freeform, Mentions of Suicide, Minor Character Death, Second person POV, sad happy ending?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:27:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26596777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoyaiFan101/pseuds/RoyaiFan101
Summary: It isn’t fair. Life, death, birth. You soon discover that none of it is fair.Companion piece to Gone.
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	Lost

**Author's Note:**

> Hello people, this is a companion piece to Gone, but it’s in Riza’s perspective.

You and your husband are desperate for a child.

Not desperate enough to take someone else’s, but you want one of your own. The two of you have wanted one since you were in your mid twenties and he in his early thirties, but life just wasn’t right for you to bring a new life into the world. But when you _finally_ get married, when you’re at the age where your mid thirties ends and your late thirties begins, you waste no time in trying to make a child.

You spend nearly every night of your first year of marriage, moaning beneath your King as he pounds into you, determined to continue your bloodline. To be a family. Because the two of you and your aging loyal dog just isn’t enough to count anymore.

Every time you make love, he spills every drop of his seed as deep inside of you as he can go. And every night he pushes what escapes out of you when he pulls out back inside with two thick fingers, grumbling under his breath over how it needs to stay where it belongs.

* * *

For your first wedding anniversary, your only present to him is a blurry black and white sonogram photo. His response is to cry tears of joy, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him cry for any reason since his Aunt died four years prior.

* * *

As your belly grows bigger and bigger, the two of you excitedly work on your baby’s room. A pale pastel yellow is painted over the walls, bits of pink and blue accessories scattered through out. A large white dresser stuffed with clothes ranging from tiny newborn to almost potty trained aged toddler and a beautiful white crib are also added to the room. A large white _M_ is hung above their crib on the wall, because that’s what your baby’s name will be, regardless of what their gender is.

 _Maes_ for after his brother; _Megan_ for after your mother.

Your love spends every night with his cheek pressed against your belly, telling your baby how much he loves them and you and how he can’t wait to watch them grow and learn and turn into their own person.

The idea of him being a father makes your heart swell with joy.

* * *

Labor, you soon discover, is a painful experience.

All you want is your soulmate to be there with you, to comfort you in your time of need. But due to legal technicalities put in place before either of you had been born, he and the rest of your friends and family are forced to wait in the waiting room.

And you are _alone_.

With each passing hour, all you want is your baby out of you. With every push, you feel your energy draining out of you. By the time your doctor tells you that he can finally- _finally!_ \- see the head starting to crown, you _know_ you won’t get the opportunity to live and to see your offspring grow up.

You doubt you’ll live very long after you hear the doctor announce their gender.

The last thing you see before it all fades to black, is a patch of messy black hair on the head an infant that _isn’t crying_.

* * *

The next thing you know, you’re in a glowing white version of your current town of residence. It’s weird. Everything, everyone, has a glowing white sheen around them. It doesn’t take long for you to figure out you’re dead. It comes to you when you see your old neighbor who died in a car accident a decade ago, walking across the street. It’s then that you realize that your baby is nestled in your arms, fast asleep with the side of their face nuzzled against your breast.

_No! No! No! No!_

You sit down on a random stoop and start sobbing, and no one has to stop and ask why you’re crying. Because they know why. Your baby is here with you, and you don’t want them to be. They shouldn’t be here with you. They need to be with their Father.

Your little one doesn’t even fuss over the sounds of your wails, making little cooing noises as they continue to sleep in your arms, swaddled loosely in a warm white blanket. You don’t know their sex is. You didn’t live long enough to hear it. And you don’t have it in you to maneuver the blanket and look.

You look up and see your beloved’s best friend standing beside you, and your unofficial mother-in-law standing next to him, sad smiles on their faces. And all three of you wonder how long it’ll take before your King joins you again.

* * *

The answer is _thirty three days_.

Thirty three days after you arrived... where ever you are... you seen him wandering down the glowing white streets, your loyal dog wagging his tail beside him, as he takes in the sights. He’s clearly confused, not expecting to see what he does. He figured it would be a field of flowers and grass, or even a sterile white room.

He only wants you. You and the heir that never got to be anything beyond a blurry black and white sonogram and strong kicks in your belly.

A bark from your dog alerts him to your presence, and he’s crying happy tears for the first time in a month as he rushes towards you, throwing his arms around you as he sobs into your shoulder. You wrap the arm that isn’t holding your child around his back, and you tell him how much you’ve missed him.

He pulls away from you and looks down at your child, and smiles through tears at the mop of black hair on their head, and the tiny versions of your eyes staring back up at him.

You’re a family again, but the little one in your arms will never grow up, never age. They will spend the rest of eternity snuggled in either of your loving embraces. No learning to sit up, crawl, or walk. The two of you will never get to hear the words _mama_ or _dada_ come out of their tiny mouth. In the month you’ve been here, the most your baby has done is open their eyes when they’re awake and yawn when they’re tired.

It’s a bittersweet ending.

**Author's Note:**

> Be very surprised I gave the baby an M first name. Because I can’t stand it when someone’s first and last name both start with the same letter. 
> 
> Names like Edward Elric have me twitching. Always have; always will.


End file.
